We don’t borrow cups of sugar.
We don’t have a “welcome wagon” and backyard gettogethers. But we do share the last stretch of the South Shore Drive, and that makes us a neighborhood.
Neighborhoods are interesting phenomena. My childhood neighborhood “gang” consisted of three other girls my age. We played together, walked to school together and fought like sisters. Fifty-First Street was our common bond.
My adult neighborhood is less personal and much less emotional, but my neighbors and I have a lot in common.
Sunsets are a good example. Very often when Dick and I are admiring an especially beautiful sunset, our neighbors are doing the same. We sometimes comment from dock to dock on the particular beauty of that night.
We’ve been known to take photographs in tandem. On a recent misty evening, I took pictures of a uniquely beautiful sun setting in a shimmering haze. Meanwhile, Dick was commenting to our nearest neighbor as he stood on his deck, taking pictures.
Our neighborhood endures what we feel is an unfair amount of power outages. We call each other to verify that the problem isn’t an individual house and perhaps complain since we are sitting in the dark while people on the north side of the lake enjoy electric power and lights.
We share the northwest wind that can pound the heck out of trees, gardens and psyche.
We share animal stories: the moose at the road’s end, the mountain lion in someone’s back yard (several years ago) and the red squirrel menace. Last week, a neighbor I chanced to meet in the Sawtooth Mountain Clinic waiting room had me doubled in laughter as he described his red squirrel stories.
We share the road and the truest part of our neighborhood bonding—the “waving” protocol. Sooner or later, everyone goes out on the paved road for one activity or another—to walk, to roller ski, to bike ride, to take baby for a stroll. Part of unspoken neighborhood etiquette is the friendly wave.
It is what we do. We immediately label someone as a stranger if that person doesn’t wave. If you are on foot, part of the protocol is also to exchange a few words.
And that leaves me wondering. Did the three walkers in front of my driveway wonder what I was doing last week when I drove past them three times before finally disappearing?
Running late, I drove out of my driveway and gave the obligatory friendly wave at several neighbors out for their morning walks. I hadn’t gone far when I suddenly wondered if the curling iron was still on. The thought would not leave my brain, so gnashing my obsessive/compulsive teeth, I turned the car around and headed home to check.
It was slightly disconcerting to see the neighbor-walkers had stopped their strolls and were now congregated in front of my driveway chatting. Nothing for me to do but drive by and try not to look neurotic.
I waved again, casually as if I always left home and returned within five minutes. Of course, when I ran inside the house and peeked into the bathroom, I had indeed, NOT left the curling iron plugged in. It was a relief but I knew that I’d have to drive past the neighborhood strollers one more time.
So I followed the neighborhood etiquette and once again waved to let everyone know I was fine.
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